Rosalie
by TheConsultingDetective'sHeart
Summary: Rosalie Parker seems to be one mystery that Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson cannot solve, but what happens when John invites her to move in to 221b Baker Street after her accident that left her with no memories and no idea of who she is or what happened to her? And what happens when she becomes interested in solving cases with the consulting detective and his blogger?
1. Chapter 1

My eyes open to the dark sky and tall trees. There's a pounding in my head and my body is so sore. I sit up and look around. Trees are surrounding me. Where am I?

I stand up and wince as I move my shoulder, which is also in terrible pain. Taking a moment to pull myself together, I ask myself questions. How did I get here? I search my brain for any clues, any memories of how I may have gotten here, but there's nothing there. My brain is empty. I search again, this time for anything to tell me who I am, but I still come up empty. Who am I? No memories, lost in the middle of the woods, and not the faintest idea of who I am? Well, isn't this fantastic?

* * *

I don't know how long I've been walking. Maybe it has only been minutes. Maybe it's been hours. I finally find a dirt trail through a clearing in the trees. As I walk along it, I realize how tired and cold I am. My stomach feels empty, but I'm not hungry. I lie down and pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I bury my face in my knees, planning on staying in this position for a few minutes; just to gain some warmth and to rest for a while. Almost immediately after I shut my eyes, I'm asleep.

When my eyes open again, I'm somewhere different. The room is white and looks sterile. There's a small window to the right of me with a little light showing through the curtains. In the corner to the left of the window is a television. On my left is a door.

I sit up. I'm in a bed. Where am I? How did I get here? I lift up the sheet that lies over my legs and throw it off me. I swing my feet over the edge of the bed. My eyes search the room, and I see that there is a tube in my arm. As I attempt to pull it out, the door swings open and a women walks in.

"I wouldn't pull that out," She says, smiling at me. "You should leave it in, at least until we get a doctor in here." A doctor?

The woman is blonde with ivory skin. She has light freckles across her nose and a nametag that says 'Natalie'. She walks across the room to look at a monitor that is sitting to the right of my bed. She smiles, and picks up clipboard that was hanging on the door. Her eyes scan the sheet on the clipboard and she looks up at me.

"It looks like your doing well." She says, still smiling. "You've been out for three days, but that's probably just because you were exhausted." She pauses, and then looks concerned. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I…Where am I?" I ask.

"Your in the hospital." She tells me. "A police officer found you on a trail in the woods three days ago, pretty beat up too."

"Beat up? What happened to me?"

* * *

The doctor that came into my room about ten minutes later told me that I have Retrograde Amnesia, which explains why I can't remember anything about myself or anything that happened up until I woke up in the woods. She told me that the only thing that they could find out was that I have a tattoo on the back of my neck that says "Rosalie Parker". They said that it may be my name, but no one has reported anyone missing with that name or with a picture of me.

She told me that I should go see someone to help me find out what happened. Someone by the name of Sherlock Holmes, apparently never fails a case. That's why I'm now in a cab on my way to 221b Baker Street.


	2. Chapter 2

**(Third person point of view)**

It seemed like a normal day in 221b Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes was experimenting with some unknown chemicals in the kitchen and Dr. John Watson was typing their most recent completed case on his blog. There was a sound of spilling liquids and sizzling along with Sherlock yelling "Dammit, not again!" from the kitchen and John closed his eyes and shook his head. He closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table in front of the grey leather sofa he was sitting on.

There was a knock at the door, which startled John. He opened the door to his flat, went down the stairs, and opened the front door of the building. There was a girl there. She had beautiful, ginger hair, ivory skin, and bright green eyes. John smiled at her, and she brushed her long hair (which wasn't brushed too well) out of her face. She was wearing a dark blue dress that had a few tears in it and had dirt spots spread out on it. Her arms and legs had a few light purple bruises.

"Hello," The doctor greeted her. "Are you alright?"

She sighs.

"Not really," The woman replies in a Scottish accent. "Uhm. I'm Rosalie Parker, I think. I was told that I was attacked a few days ago. I was told to come here, and get help from a Sherlock Holmes? Are you Sherlock?"

"Uhm, no. Sorry. I'm John Watson. Sherlock is up in our flat." He holds his hand out to shake hers, but she just stares at his hand and after a few seconds he awkwardly pulls it back. He steps out of the doorway and holds his arm out towards the inside of the building. "You can go up and see him, though."

She thanks him and steps through the doorway.

John has blonde hair, light skin, and brown eyes. He wears a light colored jumper and blue jeans.

He leads her up the stairs and through the door to the flat. A man in blue/grey striped bottoms, a grey t-shirt, and a dark blue robe is lying on a grey couch with his eyes closed. He opens his eyes and looks her up and down.

"Tell me from the beginning, don't be boring." He says.

"I don't know the beginning." I tell him. "All I remember is waking up in the woods in pain and tired. I walked around for a bit, found a trail, then fell asleep on it. Next time my eyes opened I was in a hospital bed."

"Boring!" He exclaims.

"Sherlock!" John scolds him.

Sherlock had curly, dark brown hair. His eyes were blue and grey with little bits of gold around the pupil. His cheekbones were sharp, his skin light. His hands were in prayer position in front of his mouth and his eyes closed when Rosalie walked in.

"Uhm. What did you say your name was?" John asks.

"Rosalie Parker, I think." I tell him.

"You think?" He asks.

"A doctor told me that I have Retrograde Amnesia." I explain. "I can't remember how I got it or anything about myself or my life. The doctor said that Rosalie Parker is tattooed to my neck, so they believe that it's my name."

Sherlock's eyes open as she says this. He sits up and looks at her and then smiles briefly at her.

"I'll take the case." He says.


	3. Chapter 3

**(Third-person POV)**

"Now, hold on." John says, confused. "She says she can't remember anything and you turn down the case. She restates it as Retrograde Amnesia and you take the case?"

"Just 'not knowing' is boring. It has no story, nothing to figure out. Not worth my time." Sherlock explains. "Retrograde Amnesia, though. Now there's a story, John, something to keep my brain going. Work! And besides, we haven't had a case in days. I need something to do."

Rosalie stands awkwardly at the doorways to the flat, not knowing what to do. She folds her arms across her chest and watch as John and Sherlock discuss things. John turns and looks at her, as if he forgot she was here.

"Rosalie, do you have a place to stay?" He asks her.

"No." She replies, moving some hair that had fallen in her face behind her ear.

"Well, you can stay with us." He says, smiling.

"What?" Sherlock responds, shocked.

"Oh, um. Thank you John," She replies to John, smiling back. "But, I don't want to be a pain."

"It's no problem. Your not really in shape as it seems to be living on your own. You don't have anybody, right?" He asks.

"No. No family that I know of. No friends. No life that I know of."

"Alright, well you should probably get some new clothes, shouldn't you?"

"Yes, probably. When could I get some?"

"I can take you out now." He says, glaring at Sherlock who was giving John a bad look. "And Sherlock can stay here."

"Alright."

"Okay. Let's go then." He says, starting to lead Rosalie out of the flat. "There's a women's clothing store that I've heard of downtown. We can get a cab there."


	4. Chapter 4

**(Rosalie's POV)**

I don't know what I expected when I moved in with John and Sherlock. It's really crazy at 221b. There's always something going on, especially when nothing is going on. Sherlock pretty much goes crazy when he doesn't have some sort of case to solve.

"It's been a slow month." John had told me. "We haven't gotten many cases."

The first week was slow. Sherlock kept pestering me, asking if I remember anything. John sometimes joined in. I don't remember anything though. Sherlock had been requested to investigate several cases, but thought that they were boring and declined.

The first case Sherlock had got that he actually accepted required him to travel to Hereford for a few days.

"You can come if you'd like." John invited me. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the invitation, but said nothing. He probably knew my answer.

"I don't think I'm up to traveling at the moment." I told him.

Before they left, John showed me how to work his laptop, the telly, and his mobile which he gave me in case I needed to call him in which case I would call Sherlock's number.

All right, maybe I left out some stuff. He really had to show me how to work almost everything in the flat; all of the appliances and electronics. He also went out and bought me some books like The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones in case I got bored of watching telly and the Internet.

After they had left, I didn't do very much. I cleaned out the fridge a bit. There was a lot of rotting food and severed body parts (which were from an experiment Sherlock had been doing and finished up a few weeks back but never got rid of John had warned), which caused me to rush to the toilet and vomit.

John had given me some money to go grocery shopping if I needed to, or go out and get food from a restraunt. I did go grocery shopping after cleaning out the fridge. I bought a cookbook too. I cooked for myself every day and found that I liked to cook and that I was pretty good at it too. I also began reading City of Bones, and it was amazing! I finished it the second day by myself. I also watched a show on the telly called Doctor Who. It was incredible. With the lizard woman, living snowmen, and the potato looking man I just became so lost in the creative story and yes, my feelings were toyed with as I watched it.

After three days, Sherlock and John came back. John immediately asked if how I was doing and Sherlock cut him off asking if I remembered anything now, which I of course didn't. He then hurried off to his bedroom, muttering to himself. John sat in his chair and got on his laptop.

"So, enough about me. What are you doing?" I ask him.

"Me?" He replies. "Oh, I'm just writing up the case on my blog."

"Blog?"

"Oh, a blog is like a website where you write about your life or about a topic for other people to read. On my blog, I write about the cases Sherlock and I work on."

"Oh. So how did the case go?"

"Well, turns out the maid was the killer. It didn't take Sherlock long to figure that out. 'It was obvious. I don't know why I didn't figure it out sooner' he told me."

"Oh."

"So what did you do while we were gone?"

"Oh, nothing much. I finished City of Bones and I watched some show called Doctor Who."

"Oh, really?" He said, pausing. "So, did you like them?"

"Yeah, they were pretty good."

John and I continued to talk for a couple of hours, asking each other questions and finding out more about each other. I asked him questions about Sherlock too like: What does he actually do? Do either of you work somewhere when you don't have a case? Is there anything I should expect him to do, but won't really like?

His answers were: "He's the world's only Consulting Detective. When the police are out of their depth, they consult him", "I work at a medical clinic sometimes", and "I've lived with him long enough to know that you can't expect anything from him."

John eventually went to his bedroom and Sherlock came downstairs and sat in his chair. He stared at me for an uncomfortable seven minutes and I was starting to think about throwing my shoes in his face when he finally spoke.

"I'm not going to sleep tonight," He said to me. "You'll sleep in my bedroom. "

"What? Why?" I asked, confused.

"I need to think," He explained. "I can't think up there, there are too many distractions. Plus, my skull is down here."

"Your skull?"

Sherlock pointed towards the mantel where sure enough, a human skull was sitting as if it had always been there and was meant to be there. "Friend of mine. When I say friend…"

"Okay…" I say, a tiny bit horrified; I hoped he couldn't hear any horror in my voice. I hopped up out of the sofa and started towards the stairs, but stopped when I reached the first step. I turned around. "Goodnight, Sherlock." I said, and of course, he said nothing back. He had his feet flat on the floor with his back arched slightly and his hands were in prayer position in front of his mouth. _Does he ever sleep? _I wonder to myself.


	5. Chapter 5

**(Rosalie's POV)**

The next morning came fast. I fell asleep at almost the exact moment my head touched Sherlock's pillow. I saw these sorts of visions, dreams that were very vivid. It took place in the forest, it was dark and even though it was a dream, I could feel the cold wind on my face. I saw a pair of legs; the black trousers were torn at the bottom. They moved towards me slowly. Right before I woke up, the right leg kicked me in the side, and then kicked my legs and arms repeatedly.

I sat up quick, my arms hugging my chest. The door opens, and John runs into the room.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" He asks, speaking quickly and sounding worried.

"Nothing, just a nightmare I guess." I explain, wiping a tear from my cheek. I hadn't realized I was crying. "Uhm, they were very vivid."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks, walking over to me and sitting on the edge of Sherlock's bed. I turn my head away from him, embarrassed.

"No. It's fine, I'm alright."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I take a deep breath. "I guess I just need a minute to pull myself together." I say, forcing a small laugh.

John stood up, a look of concern on his face. "Well, alright. Come down when you're ready, I guess. "

When he finally leaves, I throw the blankets off me and sit on the side of the bed. My eyes are closed and I move my hands up to my face. What was that dream about? Was it even a dream? Maybe it was a memory. No, probably not.

I take my hands away from my face and hold on to the edge of the bed. _I should get up now. _I think. As I stand up, I here a crashing noise downstairs. I turn my head, and read the alarm clock next to Sherlock's bed. 7:00am?

_Or I could go back to sleep._

When I finally wake up, I sit up and stretch. The alarm clock says 12:00pm, so I decide it's time to go downstairs. My hands push on the edge of the bed as I push myself off of it. I start unbuttoning my top, but jump as I hear a voice behind me

"Finally, your up." It says. I spin around quickly and find Sherlock siting on the floor on the other side of the bed. "I've been waiting for three hours,"

"What the hell Sherlock?" I shout. He stands up and looks at me, confusion on his face. I walk over to his side. "You almost gave me heart attack!" I punch him in the shoulder and he just stares at my hand.

"Ah, you slept on your right side."

"Shut up! Now what do you want?"

"Oh, yes, give me Johns phone."

"I don't have it," I reply, shaking my head. "Don't you think _John_ should have _John's _phone?"

"No, he left it with you on the bedside." I turn and look, and sure enough there's a phone in front of the alarm clock.

"And you couldn't be bothered to get it yourself?"

"Nope."

I go over and get the phone, and hand it to Sherlock. "There, are you happy now?"

"Satisfied, yes."

"Get out." He leaves, closing the door behind him, and I continue to change clothes.

When I get to the sitting room, Sherlock is in his chair staring at the wall. I'm pretty sure he isn't even blinking. His eyes are looking at one spot, not wandering.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Thinking, shut up." He snaps.

I ignore his attitude and sit on the sofa, noticing I have a tremor in my hands. _It's probably just from the nightmare_, I think. _It'll wear off soon._ Sherlock jumps up from his chair, and I jump a bit, frightened by his sudden movement. He quickly turns to face me. "You screamed last night, why?" His tone was serious. He was demanding an answer.

"Nightmare." I answer him, confused.

"Have you had any dreams since you arrived here?"

"No."

"That wasn't a dream."

"What?"

"That wasn't a dream," He repeats. "That was a memory."

"How would you know?" I ask, and he gives me a look before he talks again.

"When I was in your room earlier, you jumped when you heard my voice. After you came down, when I jumped up, you looked like you thought I was going to beat you. You have a tremor in your arms and hands. You're eyes keep wandering around the room like your watching out for something dangerous and your eyes are wide open as if you've had a fright or you've relived a traumatizing experience." He says, talking fast; not taking even a second to breath. "So there you go, you've had a memory now explain it to me."

"I'd rather not." I say, shivering at the thought of that being a memory.

"Rosalie, do you want to find out what happened to you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then explain it to me."


	6. Chapter 6

** (Rosalie's POV)**

"That was that it then? Everything?"

"Yes, Sherlock, that was everything." I roll my eyes at him.

"Are you sure? You need to be exact in every detail." Sherlock informs.

"I'm sure!" Sherlock has been asking me questions for the last 20 minutes. I hide my face in my hands, wishing that he would be gone when I looked back up. I pull my head away from my hands were in prayer position in front of his mouth.

"You're not giving me much to work with." He said, clearly aggravated.

"Yes, well sorry I can't remember anything. I know, it's quite frustrating." I roll my eyes.

"I accept your apology."

"Smartarse." I say under my breath. He smirks at me, and returns to his pose. I stand up, and start making my way to the kitchen. "I'm just going to make some tea," I tell him. "Do you want any?"

"Yes." He says, standing up and going over to his violin. He starts playing a song that I've never heard before.

It takes me a few minutes to make the tea and Sherlock is still playing his song when I finish. I pick up the two mugs of tea and walk over to him. As soon as he sees me, he puts his violin down and grabs one of the mugs. Together, we walk to the two seats in front of the fireplace. He sits in his chair, and I sit in John's.

"Do you compose?" I ask him, sitting on my knees.

He nods his head. "Helps me to think." He takes a sip of his tea, and I do the same.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before I think of something to say. "Do you have anything in mind?" I ask. "Any ideas on my attacker or anything?"

"No, and I don't expect to have any unless you have more memories." He tells me.

"Alright. When do you think that will happen?"

"Oh, I don't know. Some people have their memories within the first few weeks. Some take a few months, or even a few years. Some only get a few of their memories back." He pauses and stares into his cup. "Some people never get any back."

This makes me go quiet. I didn't think that I might not get my memories back. I continue to sip from my tea, and think about how my future may be. "So, I may never get my memories back, you know, besides that one?" I ask. "I may never know who I am, or what happened to me?"

"All you can do is hope for the best." He pauses for a moment before he continues. "I'm sorry, Rosalie." He says, which startles me. Sherlock Holmes. Apologizing?

"It's fine." I sigh. "Maybe my life sucked anyway. I can just start a new one."

"Yes, I suppose you could."

We hear a door open as John walks into the flat. He carries two shopping bags in his left hand and one in his right. "Sorry I was gone so long. Traffic was hell." He says.

"More jumpers?" Sherlock asks him.

"Yes, I did happen to buy some jumpers I liked." He walked over to me and handed me the two bags in his left hand. "I also bought Rosalie some clothes that were on clearance."

"Thank you, John." I smiled at him.

"No problem." He smiled back. "I don't know if they are the right size, but we can always exchange them for the correct size." I peeked in the bags and looked at the sizes on the tags, then set the bags on the floor in front of me.

"They look like the right size." I tell him.

"Good."

I stand up and make my way to the kitchen with my now empty cup. When I get to the sink I wash it and put it away, then I make my way to the couch and lay down. John sits in his chair and starts talking to Sherlock.

"Have you found anything?" He asks. I sigh.

"No, nothing but her memory." Sherlock replies.

"What?"

"Her nightmare. It wasn't really a nightmare. It was a memory."

"Oh." Everything was silent for a moment before John continued. "What happened in her memory?"

I closed my eyes and rolled over, the front of my body facing the back of the couch, as Sherlock began explaining the memory to the doctor. I wander through the memories I do have, everything that has happened since I moved in with Sherlock and John. _Is this all I'll ever know?_ I think to myself. After a few minutes I drift off to a dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**This one is a bit longer. :D**

**I was thinking about writing an episode. Like, either The Great Game or A Scandel in Belgravia. I think that would be good so at least something is going on while Rosalie is trying to figure out who she is. I'd come up with my own case, but I can't think of a good one. :( Any way, tell me what you all think about that please. :)**

**(Rosalie's POV Still)**

After a month of living at 221b, I hadn't had any more memories. Sherlock, John, and I had gotten pretty close though. Sherlock and I weren't best friends or anything, but we could stand each other… sometimes. Maybe we weren't best friends, but we were definitely friends at least. Sometimes, he would bring me to the crime scenes with him and John, and when he wasn't on a case and needed something to do, he would teach me how to deduce people. It was hard at first, but I understand it now. I'd say I'm pretty good at it. He told me that he tried to teach John, but John struggled and couldn't do it. I don't see how.

Sometimes, Sherlock and I would play games too. We played chess and Cluedo mostly; pretty much anything that required thinking he would play. I'm pretty good at chess too. Every time Sherlock and I play, no matter who wins, it is always a close call. I've beaten him 3 times out of 24 games (yes, I am keeping count). I'm good at Cluedo too, but definitely not as good as him. I've only beaten him twice out of the 27 times we've played (yes, still keeping count). I've been begging him to teach me violin, but he keeps putting it off. He says he "doesn't have time". Yeah, no time my arse. Trust me, it's been a slow month. He did let me get involved in a case today though.

* * *

We pulled up to Oxo Tower Foreshore, this little shoreline in front of Oxo Tower. As we walked along the shore, I could see the body of a young woman off a few feet to the right of a large, high wooden pier. It was around noon so the sun was shining bright which would make it easier to examine to body. With every step we took as we neared the body, I could hear our shoes squishing in the mud and small waves crashing to the shore.

When we finally reached the body, D.I. Lestrade was there. He walked up to Sherlock and told us information on the victim. "Laura Grey. 23 years old. She lived with her sister Clara, 25 years old, in London. She was last seen in Harlow by her sister and boyfriend, Jason, two weeks ago, and was reported missing that night. Laura was found this morning." The detective inspector said.

Sherlock walked up to the body with John and I following, but stopping a few feet from it to keep out of Sherlock's way. He kneeled down, looking up and down the body, then taking a magnifier out of his coat pocket and taking a closer look at the her hands. After 7 seconds, he called my name and motioned me over.

I kneeled down next to him. "What?" I ask.

"Let's test your deductions. Tell me about the body." He said, testing me.

I took a moment, looking up and down the body as he did, then I took the magnifier from his hand and looked at the victim's fingers just as Sherlock had. I noticed something off about her ears and looked in them with the magnifier as well. After about a minute, I stood back up and looked at him.

I spoke fast, not taking a second to breathe. "Her body is bruised quite a bit, so she was most likely beat by whoever killed her. The bruises are not very dark though, so who ever beat her didn't hit her with much force, probably a female. She has dried blood deep under her fingernails and they are each cracked pretty far as well. Her ear has a cut in the concha, which is also pretty deep. While examining that, I noticed she had dried blood deep in her ear canal; her eardrums probably burst before death. The body has started to swell so she has most likely been in the water for at least a week." I take a breath. "How'd I do?" I ask him.

He smiles. "Fantastic. Exactly what I got from it." He stands up, and I stand up with him.

"Any ideas?" John asks.

"A few." Sherlock replies. "Lestrade, have someone contact me when the body is at Bart's." He turned and started to leave, I ran after and caught up with him, John at our heels.

* * *

**(221b Baker Street)**

When we walked through the door to 221b, I immediately went to Sherlock's chair, John going to pick up his laptop and sitting down in his chair. Sherlock went, locked himself in his room, and came out a few minutes later with blue striped pyjama bottoms on with a grey shirt and his blue dressing gown. He walked over to his chair and noticed me sitting in it. I smiled at him. "Yes?" I ask. He crossed his arms and stared at me, but I didn't budge. After a few seconds, he picked me up by the waist, me struggling, and set me down on the couch. He sat down and closed his eyes, smiling. I stood up and walked over to him, sitting on his lap. He opened his eyes, surprised, but he didn't push me off like I expected him to. I guess he knew it was pointless.

"Are you satisfied now?" He asks, obviously annoyed at my solution to not being able to sit in his chair.

"Yes." I reply, smiling. I adjust my position, laying down (still in his lap) to where my head is on the right armrest and my legs are hanging off the left. John looks up from his laptop, staring at our positions. After a minute, he looks back down at his laptop. Sherlock stares at my face, reading my expression, then smiles and puts his hands in prayer position in front of his mouth, thinking.

"So, what are you thinking about?" I ask.

"The case of course." He replies.

"Do you have any idea who could have killed her?"

"A few." He says, getting annoyed by me. "What about you?"

"What?" I ask.

"Who do you think did it?"

"How would I know?" I ask. He looks at me, as if the answer to that question was obvious.

"Well you were at the crime scene. You saw the body, investigated it in fact; then you deduced it perfectly. You also heard the information Lestrade told us. That's enough information to at least get some ideas." He tells me.

I think for a moment, remembering what I had deduced from seeing the body of Laura Grey. Then, I replayed what Lestrade had told us. " Well, we know that either the boyfriend or her sister could have done it, since they both saw her the night she disappeared." I think again, examining the body again in my head.

"But…" Sherlock suggests.

"Who every gave her those bruises didn't use much force, so they probably weren't very strong."

"So, what do you think?" Sherlock asks. As he said this, John looked up from his laptop again and looked at me, waiting for my answer.

"I don't know." I give up.

"Yes, you do. You're just not thinking." Sherlock says, almost as if he were scolding me.

I think again, and then it hits me. I bring the palms of my hands up to my face. It was quite obvious. "The sister." I say.

"Yes, that's what I was thinking." He said to me.

"So it was the sister?" John asks.

"Most likely. I haven't gotten enough information to confirm–" At that moment, his phone trilled a text. He turned on his phone and read the message. "This was too easy." He said. I took his phone from him and read the text. It was from his brother, Mycroft.

I have been watching Laura and Clara Grey's house.

Clara was talking to investigators about the night Laura

disappeared. She talked about how she and Laura

had gotten into a fight that got a bit physical, but she didn't

kill her. I think she looked quite guilty.

-MH

"Is that enough information?" I ask him.

"Quite possibly." He replies. He dialed a number into his phone and held it up to his ear. After two rings, whoever he called answered. I could just barely hear the conversation.

"What do you want Sherlock?" The voice coming from the phone asked.

"Lestrade." Sherlock said. "I–" I glare at him, and he restates what he was saying. "_We_ know who killed Laura Grey."

"Really?" Lestrade asks. "who?"

"Clara Grey, Laura's sister." Sherlock informs him, then hanging up, knowing he didn't have anything else to say. I smiled, thinking about how I solved my first case. "I must say Rosalie, you are getting quite good at this." He tells me. I look up at him.

"Maybe you were a detective?" John suggests.

"Probably not." I say. "I dunno, doesn't feel like that was who I was. I must say though, solving crimes, it's kind of fun."

He smiles and says, "I know, right?" John rolls his eyes at us and looks back down at his computer, starting to type his next blog (he blogs all of Sherlock's cases).


	8. Chapter 8- A Scandal in Belgravia

**(Rosalie's POV)**

As the weeks went by, Sherlock, John, and I became even closer. Sherlock started inviting me to more crime scenes as we started getting new cases and John was writing more and more blogs. We spent a whole day once just interviewing, yes interviewing, people for our next case.

"What are you typing?" Sherlock asked, sipping from his morning coffee and wearing his red dressing gown. I walked up next to him, wearing his blue dressing gown. It was way too big and my arms were too short, but it was really comfortable.

"Blog." John answered him.

"About?" I asked.

"Us." He answered again.

"You mean him." I said as a statement rather than a question. Sherlock had started flipping through the newspaper and I looked on with him.

"Why?" John asked.

"Well, you're typing a lot." Sherlock told him. John looked up as the doorbell rang. "So, what have we got?"

"My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office." One man said, who was sitting in a chair we set in the middle of the sitting room for the clients.

"Boring!" Sherlock shouted. I gave him a look and he waved his hand, sending the man out the door.

"I think my husband might be having an affair." One woman said.

"Yes." Sherlock informed her.

"She's not my real aunt," A man holding an urn told us. "She's been replaced. I know she has. I know human ash."

"Leave!" Sherlock commanded.

"We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention for the recovery of these files–" One man in a suit sitting in the chair with two other suited men standing behind him said.

"Boring." Sherlock stated.

"We have this website that explains the true meaning of comic books, cuz' people miss a lot of the themes," Sherlock started walking away from the three geeky men who were in our flat now. "But then all the comic books started coming true." He continued, making Sherlock take a step back.

"Oh, interesting." He said.

A few days later, John was sitting in his chair typing up another blog. The top of the blog read "The Geek Interpreter". Sherlock rushed up to the back of his chair and leaned over him to look at the screen.

"Geek Interpreter. What's that?" Sherlock asked.

"It's the title." John answered.

I walked over to them and stood like Sherlock was, but on the other side of John. "What's it need a title for?" I asked.

Later that day, we were at St. Barts in the morgue examining the body of a woman.

"Do people actually read your blog?" Sherlock asked.

"Where do you think our clients come from?"

"He has a website, The Science of Deduction." I say. "Clever."

"In which he enumerates 240 different types of tobacco ash. Nobody's reading your website, Sherlock." John told him. Sherlock stood up, looking a bit offended, but John kept talking. "Right then: Dyed blonde hair. No obvious cause of death except for these speckles, whatever they are." He looked up in time to see Sherlock walking out the door of the morgue. I quickly followed behind him and John just watched us, catching up a minute later.

A few days later, Sherlock and I walked to where John was sitting at the table, typing up the next blog. I was wearing Sherlock's red dressing gown and he was wearing his blue one. I had just shown him how to make biscuits and he was eating one. Sherlock walked over and looked at John's laptop.

"Oh for God's sake," He said, reading the title John had given the case. "The Speckled Blonde?" I started laughing and Sherlock and I walked back towards the kitchen.

Later that day, two little girls had come with a case. That sat on the coffee table and the youngest one talked. "They wouldn't let us see granddad when he was dead." She told us. "Is that cuz' he'd gone to Heaven?"

"People don't really go to Heaven when they die, they're taken to a special room and burned." Sherlock informed them. The little girls looked at each other and I turned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" I shouted at him.

"What?" He asked innocently. I hit him on the back of his head and John walked the girls outside. "You really are an arse aren't you?" He smirked, and I rolled my eyes.

A few days later, Lestrade asked us for help with a case. We walked a long a beach in front of two giant metal cranes. We approached a car with the boot open. In it was a body.

"There was a plane crash in Düsseldorf yesterday. Everyone dead" Lestrade told us.

"Suspected terrorist bomb?" Sherlock and I asked him in unison. We looked at each other for a moment and than dismissed the event.

"We do watch the news." Sherlock said.

"You said boring and then turned over." John reminded him.

"According to the flight details this man was checked in on board. Inside his coat he's got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of these special biscuits." Lestrade informed him. Sherlock was looking at the surroundings and John actually looked like he was paying attention. "Here's his passport, stamped from Berlin airport. So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday, but instead he's stuffed in a car boot in Suffolk."

"Lucky escape." John said. Sherlock got out his magnifying glass and started examining the body.

"Any ideas?" Lestrade asked.

"Eight, so far." He says, examining the man's hand. He straightens up and frowns for a moment. "Okay, four ideas." He turns to Lestrade and looks at the passport and ticket stub. We heard the sound of a jet and look up at the sky. "Maybe two ideas."

"No, no, no! Don't mention the unsolved ones!" Sherlock scolded as John typed up the case titled "Sherlock Holmes Baffled". Sherlock had on heavy-duty gloves and goggles. I was in the kitchen, helping with one of Sherlock's experiments.

"People want to know you're human." John told him.

"Why?" Sherlock asked. The test tubes we had set up on the counter were starting to sizzle and the liquids started rising to the top of the tubes.

"Um, Sherlock. Is it supposed to do this?" I shout to him.

"Cus' they're interested." John told him, both he and Sherlock ignoring me.

"No they're not–Why are they?" He asked.

"Sherlock! I need you! This stuff is trying to spill over!" I shout, but he is still not paying any attention to me.

" Look at that. 1895." John said.

"Sherlock!" I shout again.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked John.

"I reset that counter last night. This blog is at nearly 2,000 hits in the past 8 hours." John said, excitedly. "_This_ is your living Sherlock. Not 240 different types of tobacco ash."

"Sherlock!"

"243." Sherlock corrected him. He picked up a blowtorch, turned it on, and walked back to me.

"So what is this one?" Sherlock asked John as the three of us walked off a stage in a theatre.

"Bellybutton Murders?" I joked.

"The Navel treatment." John suggested. Sherlock and I made disgusted faces.

We exited the stage to a hallway where we caught up with Lestrade. "There's a lot of press outside, guys." He told us.

"Well, they won't be interested in us." I said.

"Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon." Lestrade told us. "Some of them specifically wanted photographs of you three."

"Oh, for God's sake." Sherlock said, turning into a room and coming back out holding a brown cap, a black, striped fedora, and wearing a deerstalker. "Cover your face, walk fast." He told us, tossing John the cap and me the fedora. We did as he said.

"Still, it's good for the public image, big case like this." Lestrade told us.

"He's a private detective, the last thing he needs is a public image." I told him. Sherlock put his deerstalker on and flipped his collar up as we walked out the door of the theatre. Immediately, pictures were being taken of us and the lights were blinding.

By morning, we were on the cover of almost every newspaper.

**(221b, Third-Person POV)**

Mrs. Hudson was cleaning up a bit in Sherlock, John, and Rosalie's flat. She opened the fridge door and gaged at the odor of rotting specimen. She started taking out bags and throwing them out. She pulled out a door and picked up a bag, wondering what was inside. It took her a few seconds to realize what was in it. "Oh dear! Thumbs?" She cried, dropping the bag to the floor.

She heard heavy breathing and turned around. She saw a panicked large man. She jumped a bit, startled. "The doors." He told her. "The doors." He repeated, and then collapsed to the floor.

"Boys! You've got another one!" Mrs. Hudson shouted. "Oooh."

**So, this was the start of A Scandal in Belgravia! I don't think I'll do Baskerville or Reichanbach (unless you guys want me to) I just wanted something actually be going on in the story. **

**Also, I do not own most of the talking in this chapter. I did change some of it though. **

**-OH**


	9. Chapter 9

**Alright, here's part 2 of Scandal in Belgravia. I have added my own bits in here so I hope you like them. :D xxx**

**-OH**

**(Rosalie's POV)**

The man sat in the wooden chair; his eyes wide open in fright. "Tell us from the start," Sherlock demanded. "Don't be boring.

"_I had been driving and my car broke down," _The man started. _"I tried to start it, but I couldn't get it to go. I got out of the car and walked to the hood, which was already open. I turned around and looked at my surroundings. There was this sort of flat area with a river. A hiker was standing next to the river, looking up at the sky. I got back in my car and tried to start it again, but it backfired and smoke came out the back of it. I looked back out towards the river again and the hiker was on the ground. I didn't know what happened. I thought, maybe he was hurt and needed help._

_ "I started walking towards him shouting, "Hey...Are you okay?...Excuse me!...Are you alright?" but he never responded. When I reached him, it was too late. His head was bleeding. He was…dead."_

"And you didn't see what happened to him?" John asked.

"No," The man answered. "I didn't. I swear I didn't do it. I dunno what happened."

"No, of course you didn't do it." Sherlock said.

"Who is head of the investigation?" I asked the man.

"Detective Inspector Carter, I think." He responded.

"Rosalie, get my phone for me." Sherlock told me.

"Where is it?" I asked.

"My jacket pocket."

"Sherlock, just get it yourself." John told him.

"I can't," Sherlock told him. "I'm thinking."

I sighed and stood up. I walked over to him, took his phone out of his pocket, and handed it to him. "There." He didn't say thank you. He just dialed a number a held the phone to his ear.

"Lestrade…Contact Detective Inspector Carter…Tell him we'll investigate." Sherlock said into the phone.

* * *

**(Crime Scene | Third Person POV)**

Detective Inspector Carter stood against a police car when a man came up to him, holding out a mobile. "Sir, phone call for you." The man said.

Carter took the mobile, walking away from the vehicle, and held it to his ear. "Carter."

"Have you heard of Sherlock Holmes?" Asked Lestrade.

"Who?" Carter asked.

"Well you're about to meet him now." Lestrade told him as a cab started slowing to a stop on the road by the coroner vehicle. "This is your case, it's entirely up to you, this is just friendly advice. Give Sherlock five minutes on your crime scene and listen to everything that he has to say, and as far as possible…try not to punch him." With that, Lestrade hung up and the man who had given Carter the mobile walked up to him again.

"Sir, this gentleman says he needs to speak to you." Said the man, pointing towards the cab.

"Yes, I know." Carter said as a man stepped out of the cab. "Sherlock Holmes." He greeted.

"John Watson," The other man corrected, holding out his hand to shake Carter's. "Are you set up for Wi-Fi?"

* * *

**(Baker Street | Rosalie's POV)**

Sherlock and I sat on the sofa. John had been out for about an hour now, and the man from earlier had fallen asleep in Sherlock's chair, so neither of us could sit in it. I actually had to convince Sherlock not to throw the man out of his seat.

"I'll go make us some coffee while we wait for John to call." I told Sherlock.

"Black–" Sherlock told me.

"Two sugars." I finished for him. His favorite.

It took me a few minutes to make the coffee, and when I was done, I started back towards the sitting room. When I got there, I almost dropped the coffee at the sight I saw.

Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, completely naked. I moved my eyes back up to his face a shouted, "What the hell Sherlock?"

"What?" He asked innocently.

"Where the hell are your bloody clothes?"

"On the floor." He said.

"Go put clothes on!" I shouted.

"Rosalie, my clothes were very uncomfortable and I was having trouble concentrating while wearing them. I thought that was quite obvious."

I set our mugs of coffee on the counter in the kitchen in walked over to him. "Put clothes on!" I shout again, pointing to the hallway where his bedroom is.

"But, Rosalie–"

"Go!" I demand, grabbing his hands and pulling him up. I lead him to the hallway, open his bedroom door and push him in. "At least put something on! Anything!"

I shut his door and walk back over our coffee. I pick up a mug and start to drink out of it when I hear a ringing coming from Sherlock's laptop. I accept the call and John's face pops up on the screen. He was at the crime scene.

"Hey John." I greeted.

"Hey Rosalie," He greeted back. "Where's Sherlock?"

"He–" I start, but at that moment, Sherlock walks into the kitchen. He is wrapped in the white bed sheet from his room. He yawned, and started walking towards the laptop, grabbing his coffee and taking a sip as he went.

"Oh…alright then." John said. I immediately blush and open my mouth to tell him it's not what he thinks, but he interrupted me. "You realize this is a tiny bit humiliating?"

"It's okay, I'm fine." Sherlock assured him. "Now, show me to the stream."

"I didn't really mean for you."

"Look this is a 6," Sherlock told him. "There's no point in leaving the flat for anything less than a 7, we agreed. Now go back, show us the grass." John turned the laptop around and showed us the grass.

"When did we agree that?" John asked.

"We agreed it yesterday." Sherlock reminded him. "Stop, closer." John turned the laptop back around to him

"I wasn't even at home yesterday, I was in Dublin."

"It's only my fault you weren't listening." Sherlock replied sarcastically. We heard the doorbell ring, and Sherlock turned his head towards it. "Shut up!" He shouted at it.

"Do you just carry on talking while I'm away?" John asked.

"Yes!" I confirmed at the same time as Sherlock said, "I don't know, how often are you away?"

"Now, show us the car that backfired." Sherlock continued. John stood up and pointed the laptop towards a car sitting on the roadside with its hood up.

"It's there." John told us.

"That's the one that made the noise, yes?" I confirmed. John turned the laptop back towards him and started walking.

"Yeah." He confirmed. "If your thinking gunshot, it wasn't one. He wasn't shot; he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head with a blunt instrument which then _magically _disappeared along with the killer. That's got to be an 8 at least."

"You've got two minutes, then I want to know more about the driver." Said a man, I assume D.I. Carter, who had been trailing behind John.

"Oh forget him, he's an idiot." Sherlock and I said in unison. We looked at each other, but then dismissed the event and looked back at the laptop.

"Why else would he think himself a suspect?" I asked.

"I think he's a suspect!" Carter told us.

"Pass me over." Sherlock demanded.

"Alright, but there's a mute button and I will use it." John said. He turned the laptop a bit, and it was low enough to where we couldn't see Carter's face.

"Up a bit! I'm not talking from down here!" Sherlock shouted.

"Okay, just take it, take it." John said, clearly annoyed. He handed the laptop over to Carter.

"Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective?" Sherlock asked the man, talking fast.

"Fair play?" I asked, sounding doubtful, when he had finished speaking, just as fast as he did.

"He was trying to be clever." Carter informed us. "It's over-confidence."

"Did you see him?" Sherlock asked.

"Morbidly obese. The undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own." I deduced, speaking fast again.

"The right sleeve of an internet porn addict. And the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self esteem, tiny IQ, and a limited life expectancy. And you think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?" Sherlock said, speaking even faster than I had. We laughed.

I turned to our client, who had now woken up. "Don't worry, this is just stupid." I assured him, and turned back around.

"What did you say?" He asked. "Heart what?"

"Go to the stream." Sherlock and I said together again.

"What's in the stream?" Carter asked.

"Go and see!" I demanded.

We heard steps coming up the stair and turned to see Mrs. Hudson walk in followed by two men in suits.

"Sherlock!" Said Mrs. Hudson. "You weren't answering your doorbell!"

"His room is through the back, get him some clothes." The man in front told the other.

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes." The man said.

"Sherlock, Rosalie, what's going on? What's happening?" We heard John say just as the man walked over to us and closed the laptop.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked.

"Sorry, Miss Parker, but you two are coming with us." He said as the other man came back into the room with a stack of Sherlock's clothes. He placed them in front of Sherlock, who turned his head and refused to take them.

"Please, Mr. Holmes, where you're going you'll want to be dressed." The man informed him. Sherlock turned his head towards the man. I could tell he was making deductions.

"Oh, I know exactly where we're going." He said.

"What, where?" I asked Sherlock.

"Deduce, Rosalie." He told me.

I looked at the man, and started to deduce him.

Suit: £700. Unarmed by his empty front pocket. Nails: manicured. Office worker by his very short hair cut. Right handed by the way his hands were folded together. Indoor worker by his shoes. Small dog by some white hairs at the bottom of his trousers. Wait, more hair above that. Two dogs–No three small dogs.

"Oh." I realized.


End file.
